Searching for Faith

For a long time now, I've found myself becoming increasingly jealous of my christian friends.

They always seemed so...happy.

While I was floundering about in a confused daze of 'what the hell is going on in my life', they all seemed to have life sorted, they had 'the big guy' to fall back on, they had faith and they had answers to their questions.

I wanted that too. I wanted the security of knowing that everything had a reason. I wanted to be assured that I was never alone. I wanted to know that someone always had my back.

But I just didn't believe like they did.

I couldn't just 'accept' like they did.

I would ask questions of them, in an attempt to understand a little better what their secret was. Sometimes they answered me as best as they could, sometimes they got defensive, many times even offended by my often relentless inquiry.

How do you know he's real? How do you talk to Him? Do you really hear Him speaking? Can't you see that you have been brainwashed? Why does He let all the bad stuff happen if He is so good? Aren't you just burying your head in the sand, ignoring what is really going on in life?

I would sometimes mention in passing to my Husband - "I think we should become Christian." As if it  could happened, just like that. "We should start going to church again." I would say.

He would ask, why?

I would answer with a shrug, "Because they are so happy. I want that."

But I had too many questions. Too much cynism. Too much fear after watching what my sister went through. How cut off from our family she became. How little we all understood her, feared for her, feared for US if we lost her.

But then I hit my lowest ebb. And, as many of have and will do, I had nowhere left to turn. I was begging for help of a power I did not know.

But something responded. Something spoke back. Something took me to a church, brought my sister to me when I needed her the most. Something showed me that even with the tiny grain of desire for faith that I had, I could find a way through that darkness.

Months on from that fall, I am still trying to find my way. I am going to church and listening to the ministry. I am asking the same questions and searching for the same answers, but now, I am open to hearing the replies.

15 Minutes of Fame and Terror

Stroller update: After my (admittedly excellent) complaint letter I sent them, the company responded in less than 24 hours and picked up, couriered and fixed the stroller all at no cost! Well done, Britax.co.nz!

On a similar note, our pretty cool phil&teds high chair almost killed the child, when the screws became loose in their plastic and the base of the table fell off. I complained on their website repairs request form, and despite not having a proof of purchase (I uploaded a note stating as such in place of the required proof), the company have sent out a replacement chair at no cost. Well done, Phil&Teds NZ!

Now - on with business.

I've been submitting some of my blog posts as articles for different news/current affairs outlets here in NZ recently, in a bid to get a bit more practise writing, a few more things to add to my writers CV, and to gain a bit more exposure in the hope of actually one day getting paid to write (one can hope).

I didn't expect much to come from it, and then, out of the blue (on the one day that our internet decided to crash and leave me without access for 24 WHOLE HOURS(!!), my Mum calls me (which she never does, it's always me doing the calling - just sayin' mum) and practically screams into the phone;

"What on earth have you been up to!"

I had no idea what she was talking about, and responded in kind.

After much to-ing and fro-ing I finally managed to extract from her overexcited self, that my face was apparently plastered all over the nz news website 'stuff'.

I feel that 'plastered' may be a bit of an exaggeration. As is, 'making it to the front page' as my sister delighted in telling me, those stories are not above the fold after all. But, it was definitely there.

I felt a bit proud about it all, and when I was able to have a look at it, the number of comments and likes and shares was simply staggering.

My first thought was;

"Oh my god my face is on stuff and hundreds of strangers have read my story!" 

Which promptly sent my stomach into somersaulting flips of socially anxious terror. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that everyone would know it was me. Everyone was going to be judging me. I was never going to be able to leave my house again!

I breathed.

I told myself that was ridiculous.

I said "in a week, no one will even remember the article. Let alone, who wrote it."

Then I smiled, realising suddenly, that someone with Social Anxiety Disorder would not be able to do this. That a few years ago I wouldn't have even posted a picture of myself on the internet, or commented on something online, let alone considered sending such a personal story complete with a picture, into NZ's most popular news site. The social anxiety disorder which has plagued me for nearly two decades, and which would have rendered me an absolute panicking wreck had I been in the same position in the past (which would never have happened because I never would have written a public blog ever!), was no longer there. 

Finally, I am taking pride in what I actually love to do, and making a go of it. I shouldn't be ashamed, I should let myself read the comments, surely that many comments can't be all bad. So I took another breath, and I read some of them.

And then I read some more.

And I was amazed, every single comment (103 so far), was either from someone who had been through a similar experience, or from someone who was being supportive. 

1,200 people were moved enough by my writing to actually hit the facebook 'like' button and post it to their page. 

This.
Is.
Insane.

My second thought was;

"Why didn't I include a link to my blog!"

Maybe I'll have to submit another story...

Death of a Stroller

Dear Stroller People,

13 months ago I purchased a strider 3 stroller from an unnamed store in Christchurch Canterbury. It's been a great stroller, it did everything I needed and wanted a stroller to do. 

However, just on 3 months ago, something started clicking in the left wheel. At first we thought nothing of it, we figured out that we simply had to push the break lever up a bit more securely to stop the clicking from happening.

But over the 3 months it has gone from a semi irritating click that we were able to stop from happening, to an unfixable, insanity causing, incessant clicking from which there is simply no escape! 

I finally reached the point last week where I am actually unwilling to take my now 10-month-old out in the stroller, because the clicking from the wheel is absolutely horrendous. I swear you can hear us coming half-way down the road, and there is nothing I can do to fix it.

We took it back to the store - receipt in hand this morning, realising that we had unfortunately just passed the one year date a mere 3 weeks ago, yet hoping nonetheless that perhaps, the store would be able to help us out and either replace it or fix it. Of course, we were out of luck, and so I am writing to you.

This was a $600 stroller. I had intended to use it until my daughter could no longer fit in it. But apparently, that is not going to happen, because I am being aurally tortured every time I use it.

We have only been using it for 10 months. I am thoroughly disappointed that it has rendered itself unusable in such a short amount of time.

Until now, I had been recommending it to all my baby friends, as it is such a fantastic stroller. But now, I just want to through it away.

I don't know what sort of warrantee or guarantee you have as the supplier or manufacturer of this stroller, but if there is anything you can do, that would be eternally appreciated. As a new family who have had to go down to one income, buying a new stroller is not something that is going to affect us lightly.

Sincerely,

A frustrated mum

Hope and Wire - clear headed review

Dear Friends who are of Maori descent,

I am sorry for somehow forgetting about that fact in last nights traumatic unloading! I sat there thinking, hang on, almost every major character is Maori. I live in christchurch, and I don't think I have any maori friends - aren't we 'supposed' to be the 'whitest' city in the country? I scanned through everyone I know and thought - nope, I am a horrible Chch stereotype, I have no indigenous friends. So, lovely maori friends - of which you are surprisingly many - Feel free to smack me with your Taiaha when we next catch up! (I'm joking, please don't).

Hope and Wire was, at best, an attempt at a documentary, trying to make you feel something for the characters and then perhaps feel something for them when the fake-quakes struck.

Unfortunately, those quakes were poorly executed - not enough noise during, not enough silence after, but I guess we shouldn't expect too much from an auckland production.

I was angry at how the (I assume) Merivale or FendAlton family were portrayed, I felt slighted by the extraordinary display of poshness presented by the mother of that family. I think we were supposed to be feeling something for her once her son got hurt, but I didn't. I was just annoyed by her hair.

The best and most believable characters in the show are the little maori family from Bexley. The mum in particular was by far the most relatable and convincing on the show. Her emotions were raw, her trauma and her anxieties spot on. Her character wasn't actually there for the Feb Quake, but it was her character that I felt the most for when it happened.

People are talking about all the focus on the christchurch stereotypes that were rife - anti asian, skin heads, drinking, property tycoons vs the tenants, teenage girls in health clinics and uni students being activists. It didn't make any sense. Who are they trying to reach with these stories?  I feel like they tried to appeal to everyone at once, and in doing so, have completely failed to connect with anyone.

I think it would have been better to focus on one family - the Bexley Family, and to focus on how they survive before, during and after. That would be a programme worth watching. That would do the earthquakes and the people a justice they are otherwise being denied as this programme tries to be both poorly done soap opera, and ground breaking not-quite documentary. No pun intended.

Hope and Wire

As I sit here watching the TV3 dramatisation of the earthquakes, I am wondering why I decided to watch it at all.

I think maybe, I wanted to feel something, relief perhaps. Maybe I wanted to prove that I am over it, that I don't care anymore, that I can actually watch something with earthquake footage in it and be ok.

I was an extra in one scene. I'd auditioned for the show the day I found out I was pregnant, and when I got called up to be in a scene I thought it would be fun. But it wasn't. It was cold, and took 5 hours longer than we were told it would. Plus, they didn't pay a lot of us. I didn't say yes to any other offers of work.

I was impressed that they started in September. It seems like everyone else has forgotten that February wasn't the start of it all. Like it was just one earthquake. All the others not as serious and therefore, not really there.

I thought it was funny, the way they filmed the September Quake, a lot of screaming, camera shaking and a funny scene with a naked property tycoon and his young asian wife. I also thought it was funny how many maori people were playing lead roles, since I hardly know any maori people, and I live in Christchurch - the whitest city in NZ. Then I chastised myself for being so racist.

But then graphic showed up telling us it was now February 22nd, and out of nowhere I felt nervous.

Little graphics started popping up, 10:38, 11:07, 12:35. I was messaging my sister, telling her I was getting nervous. One of the characters was driving, trying to get away from the city for a quake-break, leaving her husband behind for work. Then the clock ticked to 1:07. She turns on the radio to news of the quake and I start to cry as I see her face. I remember making that same face. I remember too much.

And then it was 12.51pm.

They interspersed shots of drama with actual news footage. Shelves shaking. Cars shaking. Cathedral square and Cashel St. Bits of building falling to the ground.

Suddenly it all comes rushing back. The sound of the 'cannot get through' signal on the cell phones. My fear that my husband was dead. That surely the uni had collapsed. The gridlock. The sirens. The immediate and numerous aftershocks. I was shaking so bad I feared I shouldn't be driving. But then I wasn't sure if I was shaking, or the ground was shaking.

Then I am crying, and I can't stop. The most I've cried about the event since it happened. The fear, all rushing back. I'm remembering being sure that my husband was dead. That the university must have collapsed in such a shake. I remember the desperation of pressing redial, redial, redial, and hearing those horrible, lonely trio of 'cant get through' tones. I'm remembering the desperation of parking on the side of the road and running to the university because the roads were stuck. No one could move. The students were evacuating. Everyone was trying to reach everyone else.

I wanted to watch this show to prove I was ok. I haven't watched anything else about the earthquakes until now. But clearly, I am not.

I wonder how long it takes to get over something like that. Or if perhaps, you just don't?

Baby vs Cat

Our cat is Bean's best friend.

At least, that's what she thinks. Our cat has very different ideas on this arrangement.

Bub's see's Bella (our cat) and instantly starts whispering 'Ca...Ta...' under her breath. Her face lights up and her tiny tooth is shown to the world as her eyes grow ever wider.

Bella is instantly on alert. She freezes, watching but not watching - a weird cat ability that I have yet to fully fathom.

Then Baby starts to bounce up and down, the excitement of seeing her bestie far too overwhelming for her to handle!

Sometimes, Bella will let her crawl just close enough to almost be in arms reach, before scooting a few meters away and letting Baby crawl a bit further. Rinse and repeat.

But mostly, she just flees the room, as though some unholy terror is being forced upon her.

Sometimes I think she may actually be smarter than all of us.

A Whole Lot of Nothing

I don't know what to write about. It all seems so fickle.

Who really wants to hear about anything that's going on? It all seems so boring. Shall I recount my day to day routine of get up, feed bub, feed me, play with blocks, attempt to unload the dishwasher, change bub, change me, chase the cat, play with a mirror, morning tea, more blocks...DAYCARE!

I can't wait for the festival to be over this year. I can't wait till I no longer have to think about it. I can't wait till I am no longer responsible for it. No more paperwork, no more funding applications, no more endless emails asking questions, no more apologising because I've stuffed up an invoice in a sleep deprived moment of 'what-am-I-doing', no more unrealistic expectations of a new Mum and an ex teacher.

Sleep has gone out the window again. I can't help but be a little concerned about that, but I don't know what to do about it. At least when I give in an go to sleep on the couch I no longer get grief about it. That's a good thing.

But hubby is falling apart at the seams again. He is working too hard and can no longer get up in the mornings. He says I am fragile. He says he has to look after me. Apparently that means keeping our dire financial status from me.

One income. Joy.

I've started dreaming about being at the hairdresser and panicking because I can't pay for what they are doing to my hair.

I read an article yesterday about a mum who is actually worse off by going back to work. We would be in the same position if I went back to work, I know that much.

If National get voted in again this year I will personally assassinate Key myself.

That was a lie.

I am far to fragile to do something like that.

I must wait till I am stronger.